


River (For a Soul)

by euhemeria



Series: And, In Sign of Ancient Love, Their Plighted Hands They Join [54]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-08 00:22:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17970890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euhemeria/pseuds/euhemeria
Summary: For the most part, the landscape is still beautiful as it was in the old photographs which hung in their room the night before, but their hike is interrupted by the occasional patch of new growth, trees far shorter than those surrounding them, or deep scars in the landscape, still apparent after thirty years.  Once, this was a popular place to vacation, but now, even three decades later, the region has yet to heal from the Omnic Crisis.  With no revenue from tourism, there was no money to rebuild, a vicious cycle which repeats to this day; towns like Films and Angela’s own hometown are full of ghosts, and little else.Or,Fareeha takes Angela back to Switzerland on vacation, intending to surprise her.  What could possibly go wrong?





	River (For a Soul)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ljósfari (Ljosfari)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ljosfari/gifts), [Pharamedic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pharamedic/gifts).



> two ppl asked me for pharmercy fluff for femslash feb, and i originally wrote two fics but then i... rolled them into one... bc they worked much better together than they did alone. thematically. which of course meant a full rewrite. LMAO such is life. sorry to both of u for only giving u half a fic BUT i think this way... is much better overall... in terms of quality
> 
> anyway. here we have... some fluff

Normally, Fareeha is not the sort that one might classify as being good at vacationing, or relaxing in general.  Yes, when she needs to, she can separate her life and work, but she rarely finds it to be necessary and would, in all honestly, be content to work almost every day for the rest of her life.  Sometimes she seems a bit exhausted, a bit burnt out, and Angela forces her to take a day or two to herself, but like her mother she would sooner die in the field than live a long life off of it.  There is always someone who _needs_ her, always a reason why her time would be best spent on the field, always an excuse to not stop moving for too long, lest she be left alone with her thoughts.  Fareeha needs to be busy, they both do, and so it surprises Angela to hear that her partner has arranged for the two of them to take a vacation.  Neither of them is the vacationing sort.

(Angela would _like_ to be, someday, would like to no longer feel that, if she stops moving for a second, the people who die because there was not a doctor there to save them will not be on her conscience.  With Fareeha, it is easier, now, than it used to be to feel that way, but she still feels badly about the idea of vacationing, relaxing when her time could be spent so much more productively.  Both of them have talked about taking a vacation, often enough, about wanting some time to themselves, but Angela never thought they would actually go through with it.)

The destination surprises Angela even more: Films, a town Graubünden very near to the hamlet where Angela once lived with her parents.

For reasons that Angela cannot place, that makes her nervous.  She can see no reason for Fareeha to have chosen Films; although it is a lovely town, or was, before the Crisis, if Fareeha were searching for destinations in Switzerland there are many that are more famous, more well visited by English speaking tourists, and better picks for someone, such as Fareeha, whose English is far better than their Schweizerdeutsch, ones that were less ravaged by war.  Given this, Angela cannot imagine that Films would have been among the first few results, if Fareeha had not been asking specifically for destinations near Angela’s hometown.  There must have been some ulterior motive, then, in Fareeha asking her to go there.

More worrying is the fact that Jesse _knows something_.  What, specifically, he knows, Angela is not certain, for he will not tell her, but when she mentions she and Fareeha’s plans, she knows from his expression that he has something to do with this, even if he will not tell her what.  Being kept out of the loop like this is stressful for Angela in any situation, but the idea that her best friend and girlfriend are keeping secrets from her now—well, it is unsurprising that, going into this vacation, Angela is more stressed, rather than less. 

Because she trusts Fareeha, Angela goes along, and does not press, but she knows already that she will not enjoy herself until she has learned just what it is Fareeha has brought her here for.

When they arrive it is evening, and although Fareeha still insists that Angela will have to wait and see why it is they are here, she does promise that she will learn tomorrow, which allays Angela’s fears somewhat.  After all, Fareeha has convinced her to spend an entire six days here, and Angela does not think that she would be able to last the entire time in suspense—knows she would not enjoy it.

The room they stay in is lovely, and romantic, and although Angela is anxious, if their hosts recognize them then they have the tact, at least, not to say anything.  However, Angela’s opinion of their accommodations sour considerably when one of the hosts passes a sheet of paper with something handwritten on it to Fareeha with a wink.

As they settle in for the night, Angela pleads a headache in response to a passionate kiss from Fareeha.  In truth, she is just too anxious to enjoy sex, at the moment, is too busy considering why it is that Fareeha might have brought her here, what it is her girlfriend could possibly be planning.

Although she loves Fareeha dearly, she hopes it is not a proposal.  After all, she herself has been planning to propose for some time, intends to do so in only two months, on the anniversary of their first flight together, and if Fareeha beats her to it she will be quite cross.  As she has had some difficulty in inconspicuously getting Fareeha’s ring size, and was informed of this vacation decidedly last-minute, she did not have time to acquire and bring the ring with her, just in case.  If all her plans are going to be ruined, then she would prefer it happened when she at least had something to show for them, rather than just a vague promise that _I was planning to propose, too._

(Of course, Angela _also_ does want Fareeha to propose.  Then, at least, she can stop analyzing everything Fareeha says about the future from every angle, worrying that a proposal would be unwelcome.  Despite the fact that all of Fareeha’s future plans seem to involve Angela, and that she has spoken, a time or two, of more serious commitments, such as wills and funeral arrangements and maybe, decades from now, what retirement would look like, were the Recall to ever achieve its goals, as far as Angela can tell, her girlfriend has never once used the word _married_ when doing so.  The last thing Angela wants is for her proposal to ruin the status quo between them, to disrupt the delicate balance they have achieved.  If Fareeha does not want to marry, then Angela would content herself with never doing so, does not really require more commitment from Fareeha than what she already has, will gladly stay with Fareeha for however long and in whatever capacity her girlfriend wants.)

When they dress the next morning, however, Angela does not see Fareeha hide a ring box anywhere on her person, and all she gets for her troubles is a chiding from Fareeha, in jest, that there will be plenty of time for her to stare at her girlfriend’s nude body later.  Flustered, she looks away, and misses entirely what it is Fareeha packs in the bag they are taking with them.  Hopefully it is nothing too important.

They are hiking, this much she knows—Fareeha warned her to bring proper footwear and clothing—and while Angela is not the sort who is overly enthusiastic about spending long periods of time outdoors, she _does_ like to take walks, sometimes, to think, and went on more than a few day hikes to clear her head and save her own sanity whilst working on her dissertation, so she thinks that this is not the worst idea Fareeha has ever had.  Maybe it will even be something close to relaxing, once she has stopped worrying about why it is they are there.

Worrying is, perhaps, the wrong word, but it is hard to find something that captures what, specifically, she is feeling.  There is the nagging of a mystery, the need to solve it, the dislike of being left in the dark, particularly by someone she cares for, but at the same time she is hopeful, is excited, trusts Fareeha enough to know that coming here will have been worth it, even if she _does_ miss out on being the one to propose.  Ultimately, she had enough faith in her partner enough to come, and as she walks she finds she worries less and less.  No matter what happens, she is sure Fareeha’s reason for them being here will be worth it.

Or, she tells herself this until Fareeha walks right by a sign that says that the way is closed.

“Ah, Fareeha?” says she, “That sign says that this area is closed until the 20th of May.”   Today is only the 17th day of April, so that is quite some time away.

“I know,” Fareeha says, “But that’s only the old public amenities.  The trail is open year-round, and I packed lunch.”

“You’re certain?”  It is not that Angela doubts Fareeha, exactly, but Fareeha’s ability to read Swiss German—that is another matter.

“Yes, Angela, I’m certain,” Fareeha sounds so, but, then, they have known each other long enough by now that Angela is well aware that Fareeha _always_ sounds certain, even when she in fact knows far less than she is letting on.  “I quadruple checked with our hosts last night.  They even gave me directions to their favorite spot.”

Spot for what, she does not specify, but Angela assumes Fareeha means picnicking, and does not press further.  Hiking is far more enjoyable in companionable silence, and she _does_ trust Fareeha not to lead her astray—as long as they stay on the path, that is.  Neither of them has a particularly good sense of direction when not in the air.

(That they learned the hard way, when Fareeha ran out of fuel and they had to walk back to the drop ship post mission.  Radioing Jesse for rescue after having become hopelessly lost is something Angela doubts they will ever live down.)

For the most part, the landscape is still beautiful as it was in the old photographs which hung in their room the night before, but their hike is interrupted by the occasional patch of new growth, trees far shorter than those surrounding them, or deep scars in the landscape, still very apparent after thirty years.  Once, this was a popular place to vacation, but now, even three decades later, the region has yet to heal from the Omnic Crisis.  With no revenue from tourism, there was no money to rebuild, a vicious cycle which repeats to this day; towns like Films and Angela’s own hometown are full of ghosts, and little else.

No wonder their hosts were so eager to help.

The path leads them to Caumasee and around it, cracked pavement of an old walking path gradually giving way to a true hiking trail as they continue counterclockwise around the water.  After they have walked perhaps an hour, the last quarter of which has been entirely free of other people, Fareeha stops, moving off the trail and down onto the beach on their left.

“Here,” says she, pulling something out of her bag, “Put this on,” and before Angela can object that there is nowhere to change, Fareeha is stripping off her own clothing, trading hiking clothes, her bra and underwear for something else entirely.

“This is a swimsuit,” Angela observes, holding the offending garment far away from her own body, “You _know_ I don’t know how to swim.”

(In fact, Fareeha is one of the only people who knows.  Usually, Angela simply finds some excuse to avoid swimming altogether, rather than admit she cannot do so.  It is embarrassing, at her age, to say as much, and depressing to explain why.)

“Yes,” Fareeha says, “Which is why I’m going to teach you.”

“What,” says Angela, “Here?”

“Unless you want everyone on base to know,” Fareeha shrugs, “And anyway, the water’s nice and shallow.”  She tosses a shirt and shorts to Angela, “Rashguard and swimshorts, should keep you from burning and we don’t have to wait 20 minutes for sunscreen to set.”

Angela’s eyes narrow, “You knew I wouldn’t agree if you told me what we were doing, didn’t you?”  Why else would Fareeha not have told her at their room, or before they even left on this vacation?

“I knew you’d be hesitant,” Fareeha is moving into the water as she says it, “But I figured that once we were out here, you’d come around.  Aren’t you the least bit tempted?”  She makes a big show, then of raising her arms above her head in a way that draws attention to the nicest parts of her body.

Still, Angela is not entirely convinced.  “Isn’t it dangerous?” she asks, “There isn’t any lifeguard.”

“It isn’t as dangerous as you going on missions and not knowing how to swim,” Fareeha argues, “If you had fallen into the water at Rialto like Brigitte did—”

A pause, then, for Angela does not know what to say to that.

(She wants to say that Fareeha would have noticed her, would have seen or heard and done something to pull her out, wants to say that she was never in any danger, but she knows that is an unfair expectation, that Fareeha always be there, and an unrealistic one besides.  If she had been the one to fall in, Fareeha is right, it might have ended terribly.)

“In any case,” Fareeha continues, “I was a lifeguard when I was a teenager.  I know what I’m doing.  Trust me?”

Angela trusts Fareeha, she _does_ , but she has always been afraid of water, refused to learn how to swim the first two summers her parents tried to teach her, when she was four and five.  By the time she was six, the Crisis had started, and by the time she was seven, she was orphaned.  If she had had one more, summer, maybe—

But that is why they are here, now, and suddenly the location makes sense. 

It was Cresta, not Cauma, where Angela’s parents intended to take her swimming, after she refused to get in another pool, complaining of the chlorine burning her eyes, but Caumasee is larger, and closer to what remains of Falera.  An easy mistake to make.

How Fareeha learned, specifically, in which town Angela was born, she does not know.  Although she told Fareeha of her parents’ plans to teach her to swim, how they were cancelled first for the summer by the Crisis, and then more permanently with her parents’ passing, and of the fact that, in the aftermath, she did not have the opportunity or interest to learn again until she was an adult, and it was by that point too embarrassing to do so, she never had any reason to discuss her first hometown, actively avoids doing so.

She has never been back to Falera, has never quite felt ready to go, and rarely shares anything about it.  The only people who might know are Torbjörn and— _Jesse.  Of course._   That, at least, explains his knowing look.

(This time, the tears stinging her eyes are not the result of chlorine.)

Rather than answer Fareeha, and not entirely confident that she can keep her voice steady, Angela nods wordlessly and begins to get changed. 

When she is done she is slightly more composed, no longer overwhelmed by the amount of thought and effort Fareeha put into planning this for her, the consideration she took in recreating a scene from what Angela’s childhood should have been.  This is not a proposal and—hopefully—Angela will still get the chance to do so first, but it is somehow just as meaningful.  All her worries from the past few months, about whether or not Fareeha would say yes to a proposal, are gone now.  No matter what Fareeha’s answer, Angela knows beyond a doubt that her partner has every intention of staying in her life for as long as possible.

“Okay,” says she, once she is changed, the swimsuit Fareeha bought her only slightly ill-fitted, just a bit tighter across her back than she would like.  A minor inconvenience, really, and one she hardly notices after it has been on for a few seconds.  “I think I’m ready.”

“Walk out to me,” Fareeha says, standing where the water reaches the bottom of her breasts.

Angela starts to, but wavers a bit when the water reaches her hips, just three steps from Fareeha.  She trusts Fareeha, she does, but a lifetime of avoiding water does not make this easy.  Even though she knows she is not in any danger, that she could walk out of the lake from here, it is hard to let go of that feeling.

“Here,” Fareeha says, noticing her hesitation, “Take my hand.”

Angela does, takes the remaining two steps and clings perhaps too tightly to Fareeha’s body.  She can stand at this depth, and easily, but the last time she was in water this deep was more than thirty years ago now, and it is hard not to panic.

“Shh,” Fareeha tells her, “I’ve got you, you’re safe.”

She is, of course she is.  Never would Fareeha put her in any danger, let any harm come to her.  But it takes a minute, two, three for her to calm nonetheless.  Knowing that she is safe and feeling so are not the same thing.

Still, she does calm eventually, enough to open her eyes and to loosen her grip on Fareeha somewhat.  The fear that she will slip, somehow, on the lakebed lingers, but if she does—well, Fareeha will not let her drown.

“Better?” Fareeha asks her, and she nods in response.  “Good.  Because now I really need you to trust me, okay?”

“I trust you.”

“Alright, good,” Fareeha tells her, “I need you to lie back in my arms, face up.  Can you do that for me?”

Angela _can_ , but she does not enjoy it one bit, leans her shoulders to rest on Fareeha’s left arm as Fareeha scoops her legs up with her left.  All the while, Fareeha is speaking to her gently, telling her to flatten her back, to tilt her head, to feel the way the water buoys her legs.

“Just relax,” Fareeha tells her, “Breathe deep.  I’ve got you, you’re safe.”

When she closes her eyes it is easier, then she focuses on Fareeha’s voice and nothing else. For a moment there is perfect peace, and then Fareeha drops one arm and Angela panics, flails, and is pulled back upright and out of the water even before she can begin spluttering.

“Hey,” Fareeha says, brushing her hair out of her eyes, “It’s okay.  You were ready to float, but you just have to stay calm when I let go, alright?  Now let’s go again.”

If it were anyone else suggesting that, Angela would refuse, would demand to be returned to shore, but with Fareeha—she feels safe, enough to go again.

Again, Fareeha tips her back into the water, and again, she floats, allows her mind to drift too, not really focusing on what she is doing, or where she is, but the comforting sound of Fareeha’s voice, the security she feels, in her partner’s arms.

(For the first time in thirty years, she hears the sounds of the wildlife from near her hometown and thinks maybe, just maybe, she can go back, with Fareeha at her side.)

“ _Relax_ ,” Fareeha tells her, “That’s the most important thing.”

When Fareeha suggested this vacation, Angela did not believe that it would be restful, thought it would be anything but, yet as she lets her eyes close, world falling away around her, nothing left but the sound of Fareeha’s voice and the gentle bobbing of the water, she realizes that she feels calmer now than she has been in years.

For the first time in her life, Angela floats.

**Author's Note:**

> not pictured: me calling my grandma to ask her what the name of the lake was she taught me and my whole family to swim in. except my grandma is meaner than fareeha and once she got us floating she'd sneak away... then eventually we'd open our eyes, realize there was no one near us, start flailing and... swim. so like i guess it worked? but shes NOT teacher of the year. i was only four when i learned but i will never forget the terror i felt that day LMAO
> 
> anyway... hope u enjoyed. dont let ur grandma teach u to swim. go to a certified swim instructor or smtg. much less terrifying, probably. or maybe u have a nice, tame grandma. maybe u can trust her to teach u. dont let MY grandma teach u to swim
> 
> also cursed that i ended up using this lyric (from drag me down) for a title bc i was abt to use "swim (before u drown)" but thats harrys solo career not all of 1d so. f.


End file.
